


Ties of the Throne

by Tommosphere



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Bullying, Crying, F/M, Fluff, Homophobia, King Louis, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Politician's Son Harry, Prince Louis, Rich Liam, Rich Niall, Sexual Content, Smut, Violence, War, Zayn is an artist, larry - Freeform, ziam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 03:09:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1803139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tommosphere/pseuds/Tommosphere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Louis Tomlinson was 14 when his father was murdered, making him King of the United Kingdom. Harry Styles, son of one of Louis' most trusted politicians, is seemingly the only one who does not simply overlook the bags under Louis' eyes or his constantly slumped shoulders in order to keep the country running smoothly.</p>
<p>Louis is grateful for it.</p>
<p>Featuring King Louis, Political Harry, Rich Kids Niall & Liam & Artist Zayn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ties of the Throne

It had been two hours.

Louis bit his thumb, chewing on the skin (a nervous habit in which his father tried to break numerous times before declaring it impossible) in an effort to calm the rapid bounce of his leg on the mahogany floor.

It had been two hours and seven minutes, and still there was no one to tell him what was really going on.

Where was his mother? Surely she wouldn't have left him in the dark without good reason. Didn't she say that she would be out in no time? That was two hours and nine minutes ago.

The girls had been sent to Aunt Catherine's house in Yorkshire, with Louis being told to 'stay put' while the 'adults talked'. If they didn't want the girls here, then... Then what, exactly?

At twenty-past-two, two hours and thirty four minutes following the news, Louis' mother stepped out of her bedroom, daintily wiping her wet eyes as she slowly approached him. She perched herself beside Louis on the plush sofa, before taking a deep, shuddering breath and looking towards her son.  
The moment she met his eyes, her face crumpled into a pained expression.

"I'm sorry, Darling. I'm so sorry," she choked out, grabbing his hand and rubbing gently.

Louis didn't cry. He simply looked ahead, staring at very little; a painting of his father, a rather expensive-looking vase, another expensive-looking vase...

"Lou, he's asking for you, to discuss the... the consequences," was all she could manage before breaking into gasping sobs.

Louis nodded before stepping up to the large wooden doors, knocking twice before stepping into the master bedroom. There, in the bed, was his father; once a powerhouse and great political mind, clutching at any form of life line he could whilst strapped to an Oxygen tank. Swallowing past the ever-present lump in his throat, Louis made his way to the chair his mother had previously occupied, gently grasping the man's hand as he settled for the time being.

For several minutes, neither said anything, the silence strangely comforting and foreboding all at once, and it was starting to give Louis a headache. 

Eventually, a deep rasp came from the frail man engulfed in blankets and cushions.

"You know what this means for you, Louis. Don't you?"

Louis, with tears in his eyes, simply nodded, moving his eyes from the carpet to his father. He owed the man that much, at least.

"I wish I could have given you so much longer, son. You're so young."

"You couldn't have known," Louis answered, the traitorous lump straining his voice.

"There was always the possibility that this would happen. I should have been far more careful."

The younger of the two shook his head in dismay, gripping his father's hand tighter, his short, bitten-down nails digging into his skin.

"Who... who did this?" 

"I can't discuss it here, Louis. I'm afraid there may be a mole."

"How do I know who it is?" Louis asked with a small sniff.

"Your mother has the details," was all that was said for several minutes, before the elder man spoke again. "You'll be fine, Louis. You're such a smart, capable boy. And I couldn't ask for a better son. A better successor."

Louis was openly sobbing now, and was probably cutting off the poisoned blood that was still flowing through his father's veins, not that it mattered now.

"I'll miss you so much," he choked, dropping his head as he cried.

"You'll make me proud, Louis. You will."

Lifting his head, Louis looked his father in the eye, concealing his need to choke and splutter to speak the last words he ever would to his father.

"I promise to make you proud."

Three hours after the news had broken, His Majesty Mark Tomlinson, King of the United Kingdom, passed away, aided by copious amounts of Morphine, with his son as his only company.

Several things happened at once; Louis screamed, burying his face in his hands after releasing his father, the doors were thrown open, and he was pulled away from the bedside after gentle coaxing techniques failed to move him. As he was dragged from the room, wailing and begging to be left alone, by a visibly distraught Paul, he vaguely heard his mother pleading with him to calm down, that he would be fine, that she had faith in him. 

It was only when he was seated in front of a large mirror, with a few dozen people running around in a great panic sorting dress robes, plates, food and screaming for more flowers and champagne to be brought to the courtyard, did he resign to his fate. His shoulders slumped as Lou, his personal stylist, combed his hair from his soaked face, and his good friend Eleanor, with tears in her own eyes, wiped his tears with a soft handkerchief.

From then on, it was simply a blur. With his robes being fitted, hair styled, all traces of grief being erased from his face and a courtyard transformed into venue fit for hundreds of dignitaries in under three hours. Louis had vaguely remembered the oath he had taken, the promises he had made and crown he had accepted; one vividly clear part of the service, the conclusion, with Louis facing the audience, had almost caused him to lose his composure, however.

"I present to you, citizens of the British Empire, King Louis William Tomlinson. Successor of the late King Mark Tomlinson. Let this date of the 12th March 2005 be forever remembered as the day that His Majesty took his rightful place as King of this great nation. May God bless him and help him to rule with a fair hand. Amen." 

The chorus of "Amen" and having so many people bow to him had felt like a terrifying finale in the grand scheme of things.

The 12th March became a day Louis loathed to see every year; he had lost his father, his childhood and right to living his own life in one, miserable day.  
Seven hours and forty seven minutes after the news that his father had been poisoned was delivered, Louis walked away from the altar. Seven hours and fifty eight minutes after he had been told there was nothing they could do, Louis signed the Proclamation declaring himself King. Eight hours after being told he would become king that day, at fourteen years of age, he became just that.

**Author's Note:**

> I am fully aware that there are many royal aus, but I couldn't resist.  
> Rushed chapter, but I'm going to say it's for effect... make of that what you will.  
> Still haven't figured out italics, bold & underlining. Boo.


End file.
